Sarah Vs the Hindered Dream
by Tissaia de Vries
Summary: Season 3 AU. After the "Prague incident" Sarah took a leave of absence to clear her mind, her ideas and her homicidal urges. When she returns to Los Angeles, she finds out that Chuck isn't doing as well as she thought. Just the opposite...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Chuck, the show, Chuck, the character and the _Chuckverse_ aren't mine. They're part owned by Schwartz and Fedak, part owned by Warner Bros and part owned by NBC, I really don't know in what proportion. I write this little piece of fiction with no profit in mind. No, don't insist, I don't want money for this, it would be a crime.

Sarah travels from some places that I took from "Chuck and Sarah's vacation album" in the NBC website.

**Author's note:** Well, this is going to be a tradition. The new season of Chuck begins and I publish a new story a couple of hours before the premiere. I couldn't do that again even on purpose. Fortunately, I hope I can continue this one, because there is no way that the writers can touch all the themes I wanted to develop. No freaking way. It's a season 3 AU, for God's shake.

But I'm not convinced with this story. Sometimes I think is fairly readable and other times I think it's the craziest thing I've ever seen. You'll judge. But please, if you think that the fic is a piece of shit, try not to say it like this, try to say something like "This is the biggest amount of bovine excrement that I had the displeasure of reading."

Yes, I know, I need a beta. Have compassion, English isn't my first language and I'm embarrassed to ask anybody. At least it's readable.

* * *

"Did you know what happened to _The_ _Lemon_?"

For all the 27 questions Sarah Walker didn't want to hear, this was the number one (just after "Do you know where is your father?" and "Is that a parsley bit between your teeth?")

She did _not_ want to know anything about _The Lemon_ aka Chuck Bartowski aka the Nerd Imbecile.

Forgetting about him had been the focus point of her sabbatical period. That and trying to find herself.

Granted, when her superiors had talked her into "taking some vacations," she hadn't seen it like that. She had complained and thought that they were making a fuss over one tiny, little, almost insignificant, accident. Agent Jameson still kept one testicle, after all. And both hands, which were too long to Sarah's liking.

General Beckman had excused her attitude with big words like PTSD (even if Sarah would have bet an eye that the General had been about to say PMS), Overwork, General Stress and Inability to Disconnect from the Job. Beckman advised a prompt "sick leave," for Agent Walker's own good. Sarah had known she was in big troubles when she realized that General Beckman was _worried_ about her. It had been a traumatic experience (and Sarah Walker only described as "traumatic" things like dismembered bodies, raped children or a naked Morgan.) Trapped between her superiors' reservations and her inability to say what was really going on with her, Sarah had given in.

So she had been offered a dozen of relaxing and touristic places to spend her time. When she had taken a lighter and burnt the travel brochure of Prague, her leave of absence was extended to six months. She had been tempted to do the same to the one of Paris.

Two European cities. Two cities that were crossed out from her tiny list of _Places to Visit Before I Die_. Not just because she had already visited them, but especially for the memories that those places entailed. Paris was the place where her life changed irreparably, Prague was the place where her life was ruined irremediably.

Every time she remembered the early autumn chill, the rasping of Chuck's cheeks against her lips, the light shaking of his hands, the touch of the train tickets in hers, the pure, unadulterated burning that sprouted from her heart to her entire torso and throat when he said _"I can't;_" every time she remembered any of this, the only thing she wanted to do, the only thing she barely stopped herself from doing, was curl up in a corner and cry until there were no more tears inside her, until she was no more than an empty shell.

But she was Sarah Walker, and Sarah Walker was too much of a spy, too much of a _woman_, to dehydrate herself because of a nerd, to suffer insomnia because of a dense boy, to pine for a stupid, moronic, idiotic, clumsy, good for nothing and gigantically blind _loser_!

The first week at Acapulco, she had drunk (alcohol) and sunbathed and tried to empty her mind from anything that could have to do with some curly haired roly-poly. But unfortunately, everything had reminded her of him (the _mai tais_, the guacamole, the jalapeños… brown color…) and men had bothered her with unwanted conversations (although she appreciated the amount of free drinks she got.) So she decided to travel to the Guadalupe Islands and try the cage-diving with great whites. Which had been a terrific experience, until she found herself wishing Chuck were there, if only to throw him to the sharks.

Wanting a change of scenario, she had travelled to the Alps, because heliskiing sounded like fun. The place was beautiful, the mountain looked endearing, the weather was nice. One of the skiers had Chuck's smile. She had gotten out the helicopter before the engines stopped and descended like a pro. Everybody had praised her.

She hadn't cared.

She had taken a trip to Piedmont then and visited Turin. She had liked the architecture and the Museum of Oriental Art and had enjoyed the parks and gardens. And, of course, the chocolate. One morning she passed by an ice-cream parlor, had a flash of the _Orange Orange_ and decided to pack and go elsewhere.

That happened to be the _Great Sand Sea_, in the Libyan Desert.

And one evening, in the middle of nowhere, when the sun was about to disappear among crimson death throes, Sarah Walker had had an epiphany: you can't run from your memories, you can only learn to live with them and learn _from_ them.

Yes, she was in love with Chuck and yes, unfortunately he had broken her heart, but that wasn't excuse to act as if the world had ended.

Chuck had taught her that.

She had spent the next two weeks (after she got out from the desert, that is) just choosing a quiet place to reside for a season. She had liked the trees in Rhinebeck's streets. Once she had settled down, she had read a lot and walked a lot and went for a jog a lot and made an effort to be civilized with other people.

When she had felt she was ready, she decided to open herself to music. In the beginning, she had avoided any album or band that Chuck liked or could have chosen, sometimes to the point of getting around an entire section of a shop. After a while, that didn't matter. She had gathered together a small collection that maybe wasn't the best or biggest in the planet, but made her very proud, and she had created a playlist of her own. She even went to the theater and watched movies and for the first time, she had been able to tell somebody the plot of a TV show (_The Mentalist_, because she could identify with Jane somehow and Simon Baker was the hottest piece of meat that had come from Australia.)

She had spent around four months in that town.

In all that time, nobody called her.

One morning she had seen a man planted on the street, just in the entrance of her lodging. He wore a dark suit with no personality, polished shoes and unnecessary sunglasses under the clouded sky. He carried himself with the typical self-confidence of somebody well trained that bore a gun.

She had known it then: her time of absence was over.

A side of her had sighed relieved. Because even if she tried to be normal —and she had enjoyed her spiritual journey— the truth was that she was a spy. That's what she was best at, even if some days she wished it wasn't.

She had rubbed her palms together in anticipation as she walked up and down in the waiting room outside Beckman's office.

She would have sensed something was wrong when she had been summoned by General Beckman and not the Director of the CIA.

The bomb was dropped after the usual greetings, a few platitudes and an eager Sarah asking "What's my new mission?"

Beckman had lowered her gaze and spent an entire minute looking through her papers. "We have though," she had begun, still not looking at her, "that your experience tips the scales in this assignment's favor."

"Which is…"

"We can't just throw all those years when they can be very useful in this mission."

"Which is…"

"And we can't ignore the importance of this mission."

"_Which is_…"

"Burbank," the General had said point-blank. "Your old assignment."

Sarah had made a fist and her knuckles had creaked, yearning for a good punching session.

"You have to understand, Agent Walker, that the Los Angeles field unit…"

"Team Bartowski," Sarah had mumbled automatically.

"…has been the most effective spy team against _Fulcrum_. And now that The Ring has turned into our biggest threat, I expect the team to keep up the good work." Beckman had thrown her a pious smile. It had terrified Sarah. "Above all after your full recovery."

Sarah had wondered what would be the worst that could happen if she cut the General's head and pinned it up on one of the building's entrance.

"You will take today's flight to Los Angeles at 03:03 p.m. and report to the Castle first hour in the morning, tomorrow."

"To whom?"

"Colonel Casey, of course."

"Anybody else?"

"No, just the Colonel. Agent Forrest has been temporarily assigned there to complete a mission, but she won't stay long. When she is gone, only you and the Colonel will be stationed there. For now."

Sarah had felt that Beckman wasn't telling her everything. "I assume that I must expect that Chu— Agent Bartowski will join us anytime, won't he?"

If Sarah had to classify the expression that Beckman's face showed for a hundredth of a second, it would be regret. Or perhaps pity. "He won't. Bartowski isn't an Agent."

"When he ends his training, I mean," _In Prague_, Sarah had added in her mind.

"He will never be a field agent." A strange pause. "He isn't apt."

"Did he fail?"

A deep part of Sarah —the one that had hid balled up inside dark alleys and had swindled lovely elderly women in the day of their husbands' funeral— had smiled. She had chided that petty side of her quickly.

"I am sure Colonel Casey will fill you in." That was Beckman's more authoritarian tone. The one that didn't accept any discussion.

So Sarah had nodded and accepted the mission and packed and taken the flight and landed in LA and rented the same room in the same hotel and slept a dreamless sleep.

And the next morning, at 09:00 a.m. sharp, her growling persona had gone down the staircase of the Castle once more and she had met the grave face and wary stare of one Colonel Casey. Who, after his greeting, had asked her the worst of 27 possible questions to Sarah: "Did you know what happened to _The_ _Lemon_?"

And now Sarah was torn between spitting to the ground or taking her gun and kneecapping him.

She did none of them.

"If you're talking about him failing his training in Prague and standing in his own way to become a field agent, yes, I've heard." Sarah took her jacket off and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. "Not that it matters, because it didn't before. He's still the Intersect and I'm sure he'll take any opportunity to get on our wick, as usual." _To my charging_, Sarah thought.

Casey didn't reply. He didn't even grunt. He just stared at her as if he was assessing the pros and cons of amputating a gangrenous limb.

"What?" Sarah asked, when his gaze unnerved her.

"Bartowski…" Casey fell silent, frowned and two second later resumed talking. "Bartowski had an accident."

As an automatic reflex, Sarah grabbed a chair to maintain her verticality. "An… an accident? What kind of accident?" Casey opened his mouth to talk. Sarah didn't let him. "Is it serious?"

He nodded and let out a soft affirmative groan.

"How serious?" Her voice sounded strangled even to her. "Are we talking about broken bones? Burns?" The next idea froze her blood and emptied her lungs. "Oh my God! Is he… Is he dead? Is he? Please, Casey—"

"He's alive," he interrupted her.

Sarah felt the relief expand her rib cage and shore up her feet on the ground. She relished on every breath she could take. After a while, she recovered the control of herself, even if it was in a mostly superficial way.

She felt a pressure on her left shoulder. It was Casey's hand, that was gripping it.

Sarah focused on that hand, on that grip, and in her own breathing. When she got something akin to willpower, she talked: "What happened?"

If Sarah was a person of few words, Casey could be more. "In Prague. He was shot."

"Did they use _real_ gunfire?" Sarah couldn't belief that the CIA would be so extreme.

"No. It was outside the installations. In a robbery." He made a face. "Just a robbery."

Sarah nodded. Chuck had survived to international assassins, falls from buildings, drugs, shootings, even a bombing, and a common robbery hurt him.

"He was shot." She echoed. "And what? What that means? How bad was he hurt?"

"The bullet severed his spinal cord."

Sarah felt like throwing up. "How…?" She could sense her loss of control again. She fought it with all her strength. She couldn't falter now. "Paraplegia?"

Casey nodded.

Sarah managed to ask "What was affected?"

"Legs." He let go of her hand. Almost like a studied movement. "He lost the use of his legs."

Sarah's world became a blurring color palette.

It wasn't until several minutes later that she realized she was crying.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Anybody still there? Oh, okay. The idea wasn't to write a depressing story, in fact, the idea was the opposite. If disabled people feel insulted or angry, my apologies, I've tried to write it as well as I can. Personally, I think that the best people to write about a disability are the people who suffer it, the rest of us can only try to be respectful and empathic.

I've just tried to write Chuck in character. We're speaking about a man that after being fired from the CIA turned into the next thing to a vegetable.

**Disclaimer:** Some of the lines belong to the episode _"Chuck Vs. the Pink Slip," _written by Chris Fedak and Matt Miller.

Chuck's software is the same we can see in _Higashi no Eden_ (_Eden of the East_.) Yes, I'm that lazy.

* * *

Sarah stopped the engine and rested her head on the wheel. She inhaled in and out a couple of times, as if she was trying meditation. The familiar scent of her car helped her to soothe. She loved her car, it had been one of the few things she had missed in her leave of absence. The leather seats, the beautiful sound of her 385 CV at full force, the trunk with two sawed-off shotguns, a dozen of grenades and the spare knifes…

She was perfect and Sarah was fiercely protective of her. She still remembered the wrath she brought upon Chuck when he jumped into the car with his shoes covered in mud, staining the upholstery.

Sarah sighed and looked at the main arc to the Bartowski building's courtyard. It seemed a bit irrational to just loiter in the car —like a frightened child who had broken her mother's favorite vase— after she had made her mind about paying a visit to Chuck. But Sarah had always been a little irrational, if not a lot, when her personal life was involved.

She wouldn't have had free time and, therefore, time to think about Chuck, if Agent Forrest hadn't thought that her contribution to her mission was very much insignificant and uncalled for. Sarah knew that Forrest didn't want Sarah as a backup in the club because if the mark, Gilles, saw her, he'd choose Sarah above that horse of a woman 100 times of 100. The CIA shouldn't assign Percherons to seduction missions.

Sarah smirked, maybe if the mission was a success she should give a bag full of sugar cubes to Forrest.

The grin left her face as fast as it had come. She glanced at the building. The only thing she desperately wanted to do was starting the car and driving until there was no more road, but her common sense stopped her. Any of those days she would have to face Chuck. It would happen anyway, probably when she least expected or wanted it, and then she would be unable to bear it like a pro and she would end up completely alcoholic in some dirty alley, begging for some money and singing "All by myself" softly to herself with a beggar called _Dingo_ as a back up chorus.

She shook her head to dislodge those ideas from her perturbed by nature mind and decided that enough was enough. She was Sarah _frigging_ Walker, not some high school girl with self-esteem issues.

Not anymore, at least.

Each step to the house felt as if she had already run a marathon and she was trying to do a sprint beyond her own strength. Her breath sounded raspy in her ears. She fell out of step at the sight of the fountain in the courtyard, but didn't slow down. A side of her brain shut down, like what happened in that mission with Bryce in Paris, years ago, when they passed near _the street_ and she started to operate in autopilot.

That's why she flinched when the door of _Casa Bartowski_ opened, because she wasn't aware that she had knocked.

The face of Ellie Bartowski showed up in front of her and Sarah realized idly that it had been 7 months, two weeks, three days, 10 hours and almost 25 minutes since the last time she had seen Chuck's sister.

Ellie's face showed… Well, in the beginning it emoted nothing. It was an oval shape of pure blankness with opaque peridots as eyes. Then, the first emotion appeared, followed by the next and then the next and the next one, like a sequence of different Noh masks: surprise, distress, apprehension and resentment, to end in a guarded expression that Sarah hadn't seen again since their first meal together, when Ellie had just met her and she didn't know what to think of her little brother's new girlfriend.

"Sarah," Ellie said. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Ellie. _How_ are you doing?"

Ellie blinked, taken by surprise. Sarah's reply seemed to soften her wariness. "Fine… I'm fine."

"And Devon?"

"Awesome, as always."

"Great."

Silence fell over them. Two seconds were enough for Ellie's distrust to come back. "This is when you ask about my brother."

Sarah's 10 years old self would have… In fact, she would have avoided Ellie completely, as she would have used the Morgan's door. Her 15 years old self would have used a karate hold and would have hurled Ellie to the wall. Her 18 years old self would have put a brave face and left. Her 23 years old self would have smiled and quipped. Her 28 years old self would have sweet-talked Ellie. But she was inhabiting the 30 years old self, so she didn't reply. She just stood still and dropped her gaze.

Ellie's doormat had an interesting pattern.

"If you aren't asking is because I suspect you already know the answer," Ellie said out loud.

Sarah looked up hastily. She had to explain herself in front of Ellie. Especially in front of her. "I didn't know. I mean… I know it now, but I knew nothing until this morning."

"You would have, if you called."

"I didn't feel like…" Sarah sighed. This was becoming too emotional. "We broke up. I wasn't ready to talk to him. And he didn't call," she added, in a childish gesture.

Something like remorse shone in her eyes. "He didn't want you to know."

"_Nobody_ else called me, either." She didn't want to sound harsh, but it happened. In the deepest, Sarah realized she was hurt by that fact. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Sarah expected Ellie to kick her out. She always underestimated her. Ellie Bartowski was the nicest woman Sarah knew, and as one she answered, almost apologetically: "He didn't let us call you." For the first time she moved forward, leaning a hand on the door frame. "I wanted to. I thought that you deserved to know. Even if you two aren't together"

"I would have helped."

"I know."

"I should have helped."

Ellie didn't say a word. Instead, her eyes turned moist and she shook her head no, so softly that it would have been imperceptible to somebody without Sarah's training.

"I left him alone in Europe and he was hurt."

Her own line resonated in Sarah in a weird way. It didn't come from her broken heart, from the side of her that had been (was) crazy about Chuck, but from the Agent part of her. Chuck, the Intersect, the _asset_, had been hurt. Her mission was to protect him. She failed.

Sarah Walker prided herself on being the best at what she did.

"You couldn't have seen it coming," Ellie said. She took one step more toward her.

"I know." Sarah raised a hand when she noticed Ellie was going to reply. "I know I couldn't do anything. I can't change the past. It's just…" She sighed and looked aside, at the entrance arc. "I just wonder, that's all."

Ellie grabbed her wrist. Sarah fought the instinct to yank.

"I understand," Ellie said. "Sometimes I wonder too."

It was so unfair. It was so unfair that somebody so nice and selfless and caring would feel guilty, even for a second, for a damn tragedy that nobody could prevent.

It was so unfair that the Bartowski family suffered so much, when they deserved it so little, while there was some happy-go-lucky person that traveled around the world after conning the CIA and his own daughter.

A voice inside her head snorted and quipped, _Do you need tissues, you sappy sap? _

Sarah patted Ellie's hand and forced a smile. "Don't torment yourself, you are the best sister that anybody can ask for and Chuck is very fortunate for having you."

CIA Law Number 2 for Relating with Normal People: _When in doubt, get out the Martha Stewart you have inside. In case you don't know who Martha Stewart is, act as a Sunday School Teacher high on LSD._

Ellie cracked a wavering smile and her eyes filled up with unshed tears. "I'm glad you came. It's been nice of you."

Sarah needed a titanic effort to prevent her jaw from dropping to the floor. Had it been so easy to earn her trust again? Really? Yes, of course, she was _that_ easy.

Ellie Bartowski provoked conflicting feelings in Sarah. One part of her wanted to take Ellie and subject her to a torture and brainwashing session, just to change her annoying naïveté. The other part of Sarah wanted to take a katana and swear herself to the protection of Ellie's personality, as she had done with Chuck.

"I'm glad I came too," Sarah managed to say, hoping that her voice didn't sound too strangled.

Ellie strengthened her grip to Sarah's wrist as if she was a life preserver in a rough sea. "I guess you want to see Chuck," she said.

"If that's possible…"

Ellie let go of Sarah's wrist and glanced sideways, worrying for something out from Sarah's vision line. Sarah took her hand to where her gun was immediately, just in case. "Because if there's any problem…" she said.

"Oh, no. No, there is…" Ellie bit her lower lip and squinted. Sarah didn't need her training to realize that two contradictory ideas where fighting in her brain. "Before you… Can we talk? Before you see my brother." Another biting to her lip. "I want to talk a little with you first."

Sarah's mouth formed a little O and the only thing she could do was nod.

Ellie had that effect on her.

The other woman's face broke into a relieved smile. "Good. So if you don't mind, let's go outside. I don't want Chuck walk— passing by the living room and seeing you there without a prior warning."

Sarah wondered why she didn't just forewarn Chuck, then. "Look, if there is going to be any problem because Chuck doesn't want to see me…" Her heart split a little with her last words.

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that." Ellie's voice was hesitant, though. "It's just that I want to talk to you."

Sarah shrugged. "Your house, your rules."

Ellie smiled again and raised her hand. "Just wait here while I tell Chuck I'm going out for a while."

For almost three minutes Sarah stood up, inspecting a little busy spider that was spinning a spiderweb, as she tried to avoid looking at the window of Chuck's bedroom as if her life depended on it.

Ellie showed up again, with an apologetic expression and a her lucky sweater on her left arm. "Sorry. Chuck was with the headphones, as usual, and I needed some time to win his attention."

Sarah noticed Ellie's sudden sadness in her eyes, but said nothing.

They walked together down the street in silence. Sarah used those minutes to scrutinize the other woman. In the surface, Ellie looked pretty normal and composed. There were giveaway details, though: her pace was heavy and slow, her shoulders were slightly bent, there were dark bags under her reddish eyes and little lines on her mouth sides and between her brows.

Sarah waited for Ellie to talk first. She didn't seem very eager, as if the simple act of walking was draining too much energy from her.

Sarah really didn't want to do it, but somebody needed to break the ice. "So… How is Chuck?"

Ellie mustered a sad smile and her eyes glinted as if tears were going to swell. They didn't. "He's down." The smile distorted to look more like a grimace. "Do you remember that time, after you house-sat your boss' house, when you broke up?"

Sarah kept a ring as a memento of that time. "Yeah."

"Worse, much worse than that. Worse than he's ever been. And he's been through a lot. Not even when he was expelled from Stanford and broke up with Jill, not even when mom left, did I see him like this."

"He lost the use of his legs."

"I know. It's just… It's as if he didn't only lose his legs, but also his soul." She tore off the corner of a faded poster on the wall. "I don't know what to do."

Sarah wished she was able to say the perfect thing to make Ellie feel better. What a shame that she left her handbook of _How to Comfort People_ in her other trousers.

"He seemed so happy when you two left to travel around Europe. He looked like he was the king of the world." Sarah found the strength enough to smile with Ellie. "And then one day I received that call…"

Sarah had a flash of the last Christmas dinner in family, when Ellie made such a fuss after Chuck cut his finger with a streamer. "It had to be horrible."

"Yes, above all because they told me so little… As if it was top secret information or something. The Embassy in Prague did a wonderful job and the people there were very nice, I'm very grateful to them, but they didn't want to talk about the incident, about how Chuck got hurt."

_Oh, curious._ "Do you know why?"

"They said they didn't want to interfere with the work of the Czech police, that they were carrying out an investigation and we had to let them do their work. I guess they're right."

Sarah did a mental note to ask for the police report.

"When the Embassy called me I tried to contact with Chuck, but his cell phone was switched off, as usual. I was worried for him but…" Ellie glanced at her, with a bit of uncertainty. "I thought he wasn't completely alone. I thought you were there."

A train running over her at full speed would have stirred Sarah's innards less.

"Sorry, I didn't want you to feel bad."

_Thank goodness._

"When we visited him at last, at the hospital in Prague, and after a hard time getting the truth out of him, he confessed you left before the _accident_."

Sarah knew that any attempt to explain herself was futile, but she tried anyway. "We argued. I didn't know I was leaving him alone. I thought he was going to take a flight, like me. I thought he was _safe_."

"I know. I'm _not_ blaming you." Ellie extended her arms in a sign of frustration. "I'm like this, OK? I need to know. I love my brother and I'm fond of you and it would help me to know what happened."

Sarah raised her defenses. Then she decided to let them down. "What did he tell you?"

"That he made the worse decision of his life. That he let you down and hurt you and did it in the worst possible way. That you taught him how to be a man and he couldn't express this truth to you before you left. But basically, what he told us over and over again was that it was his fault, only his fault."

Sarah felt a pang in her heart. Chuck, always the gentleman.

Ellie's eyes were focused on her, waiting.

"He exaggerates, as usual." Sarah gazed at the clear blue sky. There were no clouds that could divert her attention. "I… I was too late. We always had different goals in life. All of our discussions were because of this. But I wanted to change, I was able to change, thanks to him. What happens is that when I decided to get past my issues to achieve everything he talked about, he had already moved on and found something better. A life of his own." _A life without me._

What tormented Sarah was the realization that he could find something better, that he could build a life without her, but she wasn't sure the other way was possible for her anymore.

"The only life he wanted was a life with you," Ellie affirmed and shook her head no. "There must be another explanation." Ellie's next stare was sharp. "If you are telling the truth."

Sarah prevented a shiver to run down her spine. "It's the truth _I_ know." She opted for a pleading tone to placate Ellie's suspicions. "Look… We are too different and our timing is a disaster. I think we work better as friends than… as something more."

"Are you still?"

"What?"

"Friends."

"I guess… I didn't talk with him since… our last argument." Sarah looked at her trying to put all her heart in that stare. "I worry for him and the only thing I want him to know right now is that I'm here for whatever he wants. What happened in Europe doesn't change that."

Sarah was surprised with her own words. She thought it was impossible to tell the truth before realizing it beforehand. She thought it was impossible for her, anyway.

"It's nice hearing you say that," Ellie said with a veiled expression that Sarah would have described as gloat. Then she furrowed. "Maybe you can help him. We are quite desperate, frankly. Not even Morgan can cheer him up enough."

"Morgan is here? I thought he went to Hawaii."

"And he went. To be a Benihana chef, can you believe it?" She shook her head no, incredulous. "He went back after Devon and I brought Chuck to Burbank. In the beginning it was going to be temporary, just to make company to him until he felt better, but then Anna broke up with him and he decided to left his dream as a chef and settle here again. Since Big Mike is… Mmmm… _cohabitating_ with his mother, he ended up in our place, sleeping on our couch. With pajamas." She ran a hand through her long hair. "It's like I'm sixteen again, having to take care of two children. Three, if we count Devon in his bad days."

Sarah had always kept Ellie in the category of "super heroine". She promoted her to the "Goddess" one.

"Well, I don't want to speak ill of Devon," Ellie kept going. "He's been a dear and my best support these months. And he's so nice to Chuck. Sometimes he seems to understand what Chuck is going on better than me." She tilted her head. "I guess it's a guys' thing."

"Probably."

_Or probably your husband knows that Chuck was a spy._

"It must be helpful that you two are doctors," Sarah changed of topic. "Even if it's not your specialty, you can understand the medical jargon and you know other experts in the matter."

"Yes, I can't complain of the support the Westside has given us." Ellie nodded once, in a silent acceptance of this fact. "Our medical needs are fulfilled. But it doesn't help to restore Chuck emotionally."

Sarah focused on the low traffic to collect her willpower before asking. "But how serious is Chuck's condition? Medically speaking." She stared back at Ellie. "I know he can't use his legs but… is it definitive? Is there any hope?"

Sarah the Spy thought that hope and faith were for schnooks, Sam the Girl always clutched at straws.

Ellie watched her own steps for about a minute. "He suffers paraplegia due an injury in the T9, which means that he can't move his legs and hips, but at least he has a good control of his trunk and abdominal muscles. Actually, it will be better with time. He suffers…" Ellie glanced at Sarah and made a grimace. "He suffers other dysfunctions, but all in all, it could be worse. About the injury itself, it was considered incomplete."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the passage of signals between the brain and the body wasn't totally cut."

"They're good news, aren't they?

"The doctors told us that maybe, in a future, Chuck could feel parts of the body that cannot be moved."

"That's—"

"But they also told us that any chance to recover the mobility of his legs is… quite low. Although the injury is incomplete, it's only a technicality. The prognosis of the injury isn't that promising." She sighed "They told us that we have to make to the idea that he will never walk again."

Sarah had to avert her eyes. They burnt and she clenched her teeth to stop the tears. She knew it, she already knew the news, then why was so hard to hear them from Ellie? Maybe because she still remembered Chuck dancing in the Christmas party at the _Buy More_, just after the big fight caused by their first kiss, and how he acted as a doofus to make her laugh, even when his dancing skills were superb.

He could never perform the moonwalk again, he could never imitate a Russian dancer, he could never run to catch her, he could never made a scene in a Moroccan restaurant because his long legs didn't have space under the low table.

He could never, ever walk again.

Suddenly, the world seemed duller.

"The doctors still don't know? How is Chuck's recovery?" Sarah asked, still unable to look at Ellie.

"Oh, as predicted. The injury itself has healed positively and the swelling has decreased. He needs medicaments, like steroids, of course, but the doses of painkillers have been reduced. He goes to rehabilitation two days per week and at this moment in time, he can use the wheelchair by himself and he's becoming pretty autonomous." The last part was uttered with a slight unease.

"Is somebody helping him… mentally?"

"A social worker friend of mine visits him from time to time but… Chuck isn't being cooperative."

The more Sarah talked about the situation, the less she wanted to talk about it. What she wanted was unimportant, though. This wasn't about her.

Empathy was a double-edged sword for a conman: one needed it, to be able to read and manipulate people. What one couldn't do was _exercise_ compassion, because that was unnecessary and made you weak. The CIA had taught her the same, that's why her past was so useful for her life as a spy.

Chuck changed that. Chuck changed _everything_. And as angry as she was with him for shattering her heart into millions pieces, she had to admit all the things that he gave her.

For all his denseness, Chuck was an honest man that deserved respect and support. _Semper fidelis_, as went the Marines' motto.

She threw a cursory glance at Ellie and asked: "You think that me talking to Chuck could help him?"

Ellie exhaled audibly, like a dog that wanted to express its disdain over a caress. "That depends."

_Depend__s on what the fuck?_

"Depends on what?"

Ellie stopped and put an arm in front of Sarah to block her path. Her expression was dead serious. "Are you going to stay?"

"Stay how?"

"Are you going to visit him more times or this is only a one-time type of thing?"

"I don't know, that depends."

"On what my brother says?"

Sarah nodded, matter-of-factly.

Ellie stroked her nape in a reflexive gesture. "If you want to see him he won't say no. But I don't want him to be hurt, I don't want him to get excited with the prospect of seeing you often just for that hope to be smashed."

"I'm not in the habit of crushing the hearts of men irresponsibly."

This was, technically, a lie.

"Even if you don't want to, I'm sure you have that effect on men and after what you two went through, I don't know if my brother is ready to deal with you."

That was just outrageous. "_He_ broke up with _me_."

"Yes, but one thing is breaking up with you when he was a healthy young man and another very different to see you again, when you're still your godlike persona and he's dumped on a wheelchair."

Sarah blinked. Her cheeks began to warm up. "Godlike persona"? Was that how Ellie saw her? Sarah was so used to think of herself as a less than perfect woman that praises like this left her out for the count.

"I…" Sarah decided not to dodge the issue. "The truth is I don't know how long I'm going to stay here. I'm here _right now_, I live here and I work here, but anything could happen."

"Oh, where are you working?"

"My former job? At the _Orange Orange_?"

"They continually changed the clerks after you left." Ellie seemed to realize what she just said. "I used to walk by… just in case."

"My boss told me they had bad luck with the girls and that they were happy to hire me again." Which wasn't as far from the truth as she had thought in the beginning.

"You're lucky, you're absent for like… six months? Really, so much now?"

"Yes, I'm afraid."

"You're out for six months and when you come back you can get the same job." Ellie's eyes shone with a soft light of suspicion. Sarah rejected that idea, it was preposterous. "And where have you been all this time?"

"In a lot of places. I've travelled around the world. Mexico, France, Italy, the Sahara… It's been… enriching. Except for the fact that it ruined me economically."

"I'd say. It must be expensive travelling around the world."

Sarah paused before talking. It wasn't her imagination: that sounded like a third grade. "Not so much if you don't mind about comfort. If you go as a backpacker you can visit different countries for a reasonable price." Sarah shrugged. "But in the end, it tires to go to and from all the time. I'm not a College freshman anymore."

"That's why you came back?"

"Yes, because of that and because I spent almost all my money in my long vacations and I need to eat like every other person. And because this feels like home to me. More than Washington. More than any other place."

The First Rule of a Con: Tell the truth as much as possible, it's more effective and it's easier to remember.

"Look, you possibly don't trust me," Sarah said. "I know I wouldn't either, in reverse. But I want to help, I _really_ want to help, and not just for Chuck. You were nice to me, when you didn't need to, and this is the least thing I can do."

Ellie was standing up in front of her, in absolute silence, like a Buckingham palace guard. Sarah realized that the image fitted her, because in her entire time in Burbank she hadn't needed to manipulate Chuck (much), lure his friends or convince her bosses, the only person that could block her intentions towards Chuck had always been Ellie Bartowski.

"I'm sorry, I'm acting like an idiot. You're always been good for my brother," she said at last and a melancholic smile wavered in her lips. "I hope you can knock some sense into him."

The atmosphere was too heavy for Sarah, so she joked. "I hope that when you say 'knock some sense into him' you don't mean hitting him."

"Well, if it works…"

Ellie wrapped her arm over Sarah's shoulders and led her to their way back. Sarah couldn't shake the sensation that although Ellie treated her with her old familiarity, there was an elusive quality that had changed forever between them.

It froze a part of her being, as it happened the last time she visited her father in prison, before entering Harvard.

_Casa Bartowski_ was quiet and in semidarkness. Usually that used to put Sarah on guard, but the faint scent of lilacs, spices and liniment (both familiar and weird) soothed her instantly.

"Wait a moment while I talk with Chuck," Ellie whispered.

She raised a hand as a farewell and a signal and went away without waiting for Sarah to answer.

The spy remained alone in the living room. Her background and training kicked in to make her focus on the details. One of the armchairs in front of the television was missing; a bunch of comics, a couple of folded blankets and an alarm clock were under the coffee table; Chuck's favorite cup and his fruit loops were on the kitchen's counter, also, a couple of pans, the toaster, the roaster and the dinner trails that the last time she checked were kept on the upper cupboard.

Sarah did a quick review of the film library, all Chuck's favorite movies and games were at her waist's height.

She put her hands into her jacket's pockets to prevent them shacking. She watched Ellie at the back of the corridor. She was at the entrance of Chuck's room (what had been Ellie's former room) with a palm turned toward the ceiling, as if she was imploring, whilst she pointed at Sarah.

That didn't look promising.

Every fiber of Sarah's being told her to leave the place, to run away, to hide behind high stone walls, until her name was erased from the lips of the concerned people. Sarah discarded all and every one of her default responses and walked toward Chuck's room.

There were two ramps, one on each side of the two steps that led to the corridor. Sarah fixed her stare on an indeterminate point in front of her. The voices were audible now. She stopped.

"Chuck, honey, I'm sure she'll glad to see you," Ellie was saying.

"I don't know…" Chuck's voice sounded weak and distant.

"She's _here_, after all." Ellie glanced at Sarah and she gestured to her to approach. "She wants to see you."

"But maybe it would best if she came any other day, when I'm ready…"

"Chuck, she didn't drive all the way here just to go back. You will see her, it's the polite thing to do. End of discussion."

Sarah was hoping that Ellie could somewhat smooth the things to make their first meeting a little more bearable. Apparently, Ellie had gotten the Certificate of Diplomacy from the Casey School for Interpersonal Relations and Other Social Stuff.

Nothing could be done now.

Sarah stepped forward to the threshold. The vision of Chuck's room opened in front of her. Floor, bed, desk, walls, window and in the center of it, Chuck's shape, standing out against the brightness as if he was a figure in a shadow theatre. Her eyes needed several seconds to get used to the image facing her, or, to be more precise, to fit the man she was seeing into the memories she kept, as if he was too big a piece for a puzzle. He had a bear, that's the first thing that caught her attention. He exhibited a bear that gave him a messianic appearance, a look reinforced by his sad eyes. That's the image of Jesus she had anyway, from the couple of group homes where she had been. He was very pale and that made the bag under his eyes stand out. He had a general look of tiredness and slovenliness, wearing an old t-shirt, a pair of worn jeans and his chucks. His usual Chucks, undone, almost as if they were just decorative, on the footrests of the chair.

Yes, at last, she couldn't avoid it any longer, there was the wheelchair. One of those she had been briefly in a hospital, the streets or TV. A normal wheelchair.

For disabled people.

"Hi, Chuck," she greeted, thinking that maybe the sound of her own voice would calm her down. It didn't. She waved, thinking that the inane gesture would turn that situation into a normal one. It didn't.

"Hi, Sarah."

He fumbled around with his arms, trying to hide his legs. She noticed it then: although he kept his usual thin frame, his shoulders were slightly wider.

"I'll leave you two alone, so you can talk," Ellie said. She threw Sarah an encouraging smile before going away.

As soon as Chuck and Sarah were the only two people in the room, silence fell over them like a 400 pound gorilla, riding an elephant, on top of the Empire State building.

"What's up?" Sarah asked when the lack of any sound felt unbearable.

_Oh, God, could I be clumsier?_

Chuck shrugged and then signaled at his surrounding as if it was self evident.

"I know, stupid question," she said.

"No, no, it's all right." He tried a friendly smile. "How are _you_ doing?"

Sarah approached him. Her knees felt like Jell-O. "Fine, considering…" She bit her lower lip. "Fine, thank you." She racked her brains for a good conversation topic. Nothing coherent popped out. "Sorry for coming here without prior warning."

"Oh, no, it's not big deal…"

"I didn't interrupt you in any important task, I hope."

_Sarah, if there were a Contest__ for the Most Ill-timed Person in the Universe, you will get second place. For being ill-timed. _

Chuck waved her arms to include himself, the headphones around his neck, the computer at one side and the room. "I-I was— I was listening music, you know? Just killing time here, because-because it's good to rest for a while, so much activity can damage your brain or so I heard and obviously I don't need to injury more parts of my body not that my sister would notice the difference according to her words and… and anyway…" He inhaled sharply "It's nice seeing you."

She cracked a brief smile almost against her will. "It's good seeing you too."

"Really?" Hope seemed to pour out from his brown eyes. Light put a golden rim to his irises.

"Really."

He glanced sideways. "Because I thought you would be angry with me, after Prague…"

"Let's not talk about Prague." The wound was still too fresh.

"Sarah… I know-I know that what I did—"

"Chuck, _no_." She coughed to conceal her own agitation. "The past is the past. You had your reasons. What happened to you doesn't change that." She realized how cold it sounded. "But I'm very sorry for your injury. I am. I'd never whish you anything like this. You must trust me." She waited until he did a millimetric nod. "We were partners once and partners watch each other backs. And want to know how the other is doing." Sarah fought the shaking of her hands. "I would have wanted to know what happened to you. I'd have visited you long ago if I heard of this earlier."

Chuck wet his lips. An air of reflective gravity surrounded him before answering.

"You were away and I thought it didn't— shouldn't affect you."

"_What?_"

Chuck shifted his head and shoulders uneasily. "I didn't want you to worry. You have your life and you don't need something like this distracting you in a mission. Your life could depend on that."

Sarah felt a pang in her chest. She didn't know if that was the most beautiful or the most insane thing she had ever heard. Both, actually. It was a common occurrence with Chuck. It was one of the reasons why she loved him.

She wondered if she would stop loving him some day. There was a limit to the amount of emotional pain she could bear.

"How did you find out? About my condition," Chuck asked. His voice sounded tight.

"Casey told me. This morning."

He winced. "Did he choose today for any reason?"

"No. We haven't talked to each other in around six months. I've been… away."

"No missions together?"

"No missions together."

"So he had to stay here and babysit me while you were around the world, _livin' la vida loca_. No wonders why he's been so grumpy all this time."

Sarah could have corrected him, but she decided to let him keep his imaginary setting. It was more honorable for her than the truth.

"Did Casey pay you visits?"

"Yeah, regularly, like a good neighbor. He gave butter cookies to Ellie and all. Such a sweetheart… When we were alone he changed, though." He scowled. "Some Organizations for Disabled People would tell him that grabbing someone from the neck to force him to flash is considered not just rough, but even an offence to his rights. I can't run away, after all."

Sarah was speechless for about five seconds. Could he joke about his situation? Maybe it was the best for him. "You know he's very particular about showing his affection," she said.

"If that means he cares for me I wish he hated me."

"Don't say that. He seemed upset by your… accident."

A sour grimace. So unlike Chuck. "Accident, huh? Is that how he called it?"

"No. This was a poor euphemism. Sorry. I know it wasn't an accident."

"You can call it that way, if you want. It was my fault, after all. I was so cocky with my kung-fu skills and my CIA training that… I didn't see the second robber behind me until…" His voice broke and all color drained from his face.

Sarah's heart broke a little more, if that was possible. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not really."

"Okay."

She focused on the dust particles dancing against the sunlight that entered through the window. The sight of his room relaxed her. The bedroom had been arranged to look like Chuck's former one.

Almost.

The part of Chuck's disc collection that in the past was piled on the floor next to the desk was on the back side of the room, with the guitar and his Nerd Herd bag. The new bed had been brought closer to the wardrobe. All those changed had created a clean passage for his chair. The rest was as she remembered: a reflection of Chuck's soul. That cheered her up, somehow.

"So you've been destined here again?" Chuck broke the silence.

"Yes, I'm back as Casey's partner. For now." She wasn't sure why she emphasized that bit. She had tried to reassure Ellie, after all. "And what about you? If Casey wants your services that means you're still involved with the CIA, doesn't it?"

"Ah, no, not anymore." He pointed at his legs. "I'm a lousy choice for a field agent. My career as a spy is over, I'm afraid. Although to be perfectly honest I don't know if I ever really was one."

Sarah didn't mind him leaving the spy world. This wasn't about her, she reminded herself. "But if you wanted to work for the CIA, you could." She lowered her voice. "You're still the Intersect. You could work as an analyst, flashing on enemy operatives and planning missions for other agents."

Chuck put a skeptical face, then cracked an acid smile. "Oh, I see. You don't know."

"What?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me _what_?"

"I can't flash. I'm a six million dollar junk on a wheelchair. As useless as the "Red Star" operating system."

That's why he was so crushed. He thought he had to be a hero. The Intersect made him a hero, if he lost it, then he was just Chuck and for Chuck that wasn't enough.

As usual, he didn't understand a shit.

"You are more than the Intersect."

"The CIA doesn't think the same."

_Fuck the CIA._

"You still have your brains. You don't need the Intersect to be smart. You are young and intelligent, there are a thousand things you can do." She sneered. "Being a spy isn't the Promised Land."

"You make it sound so easy…"

"It _is_ easy. For somebody like you it is. You only need to give your best." His puppy eyes made her want to caress his face. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back. "Now you have time to think what you want to do in the future. That's good."

"Yeah, of course, now that I have time I could find the solution to the P versus NP problem, come off it!"

"Why not? You could solve it."

Chuck stared at her as if she had opened her blouse and showed a hairy chest.

"What could prevent you from doing it?" she asked, self-aware.

"Aside from the existence of the one-way function, you mean?"

She shrugged with one shoulder, as she wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. She used to lean on her intuition to recognize when Chuck was sarcastic, because she usually didn't understand his nerd references.

"Then you could prove it's not possible. One way or another, I'm sure it'll be a feat."

Chuck opened and closed his mouth several times. In the end he burst out a humorless laughter and shook his head in disbelief. "Look, Sarah, I appreciate how you're trying to cheer me up, I do, but let's be frank: I am on a wheelchair, I can't flash and if I was a disaster before, now I'm just pathetic."

Suddenly Sarah didn't felt sympathetic anymore. She cared for Chuck, cared for what he represented, but this guy in front of him wasn't him, he was just a ghost of the most wonderful man she ever met. She knew that all the qualities that had made her fall in love with him were still inside that big head. She just needed to wake him up.

By lashing out left, right and centre.

"OK, that's enough. Stop feeling sorry for yourself right now or I whack you."

"Sarah, I'm—"

"I know what happened to you, OK? And I know it's horrible and that I can't even possibly imagine how you feel. But this guilt ride must stop, because you aren't like this."

After a quick moment of shock he faced her with defiance. "And how am I?"

_You are the idiot that dumped me._

"You are an underachiever, all right. With some neurosis and abandonment issues, everybody knows it. You'd rather play videogames than grasp the nettle as a first response to the problems and sometimes you take the _worse_ of the decisions. But you are a survivor. You never give up, if you fail you try again, even from a different perspective. You are brave, I am a witness of it. And intelligent, you have a brain that still works. You are a good person, even when you don't try to. You are _not_ a loser, Chuck. I would kill anybody that said this about you. So don't make me kill you for badmouthing yourself."

Chuck's eyes popped and his face showed the sheerest of fears. His gaze went from her face to his chair's arms, where Sarah's hands rested. Unaware to herself, she had stepped forward and bent down, so their eyes could be at the same height.

Instead of moving away and looking apologetic, she stressed her point: "You got that?"

Chuck gulped, as he had done in their "couples' dinner" with the Rattners, when Sarah had made clear that she didn't want anybody to ask questions about her past.

Oh, those were the days.

"Are you going to hurt me?" he asked in a small voice.

"That depends. Are you going to recover some sense?"

His fear turned into perplexity. "Like that? How am I supposed to do it, according to you? By magic?"

_It is wrong to use violence against people that can't defend themselves, it is wrong to use violence against people__ that can't defend themselves, it is wrong…_

"Sarah?"

She inhaled and exhaled slowly. His undone Chucks caught her attention. "How long it's been since you went out and breathed fresh air?"

"I go to therapy two days per week," he answered, deadpan.

"All right, let me rephrase it. How long it's been since you went out just to go for a stroll and admire the landscape?"

"Why do you assume—?"

"Because I know you, Chuck." She pierced him with her eyes. "How long?"

"I'm not sure… Two weeks? Maybe more."

Sarah gave the reply a miss. It was going to be a string of shouts anyway. She released her physical frustration by going striding to Chuck's back and pushing his chair ahead.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? We're going outside to smell the roses."

He tried to slap her hands without turning his torso. "Stop, stop!"

She leaned forward so she could look at him from above. "We can do it the hard way or my way. But I warn you, I make Casey look like a Care Bear."

First he pouted, then he sighed. "All right… But wait!" He extended the index finger.

"What now?"

Chuck propelled his chair by himself to the night table. He took a blue cap that was lying there. He wore it. "OK, ready."

"Yes, great touch. On a par of makeup."

She glanced at his sneakers and went to bend with the idea of tying his shoestrings. She stopped at the second when she realized he could take that gesture as an offence. Unfortunately, her movement had been obvious.

A profound blush of shame spread through his cheeks and neck. Without a word, he showed her he could tie the shoelaces perfectly well.

Perhaps somebody with less social awkwardness would have settled the misstep.

Sarah wasn't that person.

Instead of talking and putting her foot in it a little deeper, she extended her arm to indicate that he could go ahead of her. Chuck nodded, avoiding any eye contact, and got out the room. Sarah waited a second to take a breath and pull herself together. Then she followed him.

Ellie was on the couch, reading a magazine with her naked feet on high. Her nails were painted in deep red.

"Chuck… What happens?" she asked as soon as they reached the living room. Her voice was full of trepidation.

"We're going out, to while away the time," Sarah answered before Chuck.

Ellie just gaped.

"If you don't mind," Sarah went on. "Because if you have any problem…"

Ellie jumped from the couch, threw the magazine away and opened the door for them.

When they reached Sarah's car, she realized there was a slight obstacle: she had absolutely no idea if Chuck could transfer himself from his wheelchair to the car's seat and after the last fiasco, she didn't dare to ask.

She opened the car's door for him and waited.

"I can go by myself, but… stay there in case I fall like a bowling pin," he answered her silent question.

Sarah flashed a smile due to shock, more than anything else.

* * *

"Do you want to go back?" she asked.

"No… Why?"

"Well, you haven't talked much."

"Says the _'Human Tomb.'_"

She made a face "But that's normal in me. You're usually more… boisterous."

"Maybe I'm not my usual self anymore." He glanced at his legs automatically.

Sarah sighed, but said nothing. They had hardly spoken while she rode the car and even after that, when they had been just strolling around.

For some unconscious desire, she had driven them to the beach. Exactly to the place where they ended their first first date. When they had forged their friendship with a stare, a soft smile and a bump of shoulders.

It seemed like an eternity now. So many things had changed. Not just emotionally. After helping Chuck get out from the car she realized how stupid she had been.

Wheelchair, sand, maybe not the best idea. Fortunately they enjoyed the sight through the esplanade and Chuck hadn't seemed upset for her choice. In fact, a light cloak of contentment had dyed his features. The last time they had been there the sun was raising, this time it was dusk.

Sarah had driven elsewhere after that, without any certain direction, in silence. They had left the car somewhere that looked acceptable enough and went on foot.

They moved forward with the lethargic pace of the wanderers.

The first lights came on and the streets began to fill with people looking for a drink, and something more. They were in the middle of a nightlife area. Sarah had a superficial knowing of L.A. to be honest. In fact, all the pubs she knew about, she knew them thanks to Chuck. Her leisure time had been quite nonexistent in the city. But for some reason that zone seemed familiar to her. Her brain began to send messages of attention. She didn't know exactly why. She had learnt to trust her instinct, though.

She stopped walking.

"What happens?" Chuck asked.

"I don't know… This place… Have we been here before? In some bar or disco? Something?"

Chuck looked around him. "Nope. More to the north yes, but exactly here… Not that I remember. Why?"

"I have this sensation as if I should remember this place…" She shook her head no. "Forget it. It's nothing."

"Maybe you remember it for something else."

"From what?"

"Somebody works around here?"

That seemed to click, although it was quite improbable. "Who? It's not like my agenda teems with contacts."

"That's true, but… Maybe it's Morgan?" He did another surveillance of the place. "Ah no, Morgan doesn't work around here."

"I don't even know where he… Wait, Morgan has a new job?"

"Yeah, he's a kitchen hand in a restaurant."

She needed several seconds to absorb those news. "Morgan Guillermo Grimes is a kitchen assistant? A person who has to use knifes?"

"Hey! Don't underestimate the Little Bearded Man. He learned to become a Benihana chef. Besides, it's temporary, according to him."

"Of course, a cornerstone in his path to conquer the world."

"Show him a little more love, woman."

Sarah laughed because the topic seemed to cheer him up. A joking Chuck was a welcomed change.

"So what are Morgan's plans for the future?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.

Chuck's face fell a little. "Oh, well… He-he wants to works with me. You know, like how we used to do in the _Buy More_."

"Because going back there is impossible, of course…"

Sarah knew that Chuck could do bigger and better things than working there, but if that could help him, she would encourage him.

"Hah, no, not while Emmett is still in charge." He clenched his teeth. "I'd rather eat dung."

"Interesting image." She watched the darkening sky in silence before she decided to press the matter. "Any future job in the horizon?"

"We are… ehhh… we are assessing our choices."

"I hope that those choices include some real jobs. Ninja assassin isn't a valid option."

Chuck blushed. "Of course not. What do you think we are, 5 years old? We're talking about real professions."

"Like what?"

Chuck cleared his throat before answering in a high-pitched voice: "Morgan thinks we should begin a career as porn watchers."

"Porn watchers? What the hell is that?"

"They're people that search through the internet to find porn pages for the parental control software companies."

Silence.

"Do those people exist?" Sarah asked.

"They have to." Chuck shrank a little on his chair at her stare. "Morgan saw it in a movie, OK? B-but I think that job exists, for real! Somebody has to find and ban the adult pages."

"So your idea of a job with prospects is watching porn all day."

"Well… At least it's something. I just hope you could do that work without a-actually… _seeing_ the sites."

"Chuck, seriously."

"You know, job offers don't come like a bolt from the blue for crippled people."

Sarah winced at Chuck's wording. "You have a Stanford degree, that should be helpful."

He bowed his head and fiddled about with his hands. No reply.

"Have you tried, at least?" Faced with his silence, she put herself in front of him. "Chuck, I know it's hard and I know you need time. I'm all for it if you use it to recover. But don't give up hope. You can do anything. Anything you wanted you could have. _This_," she gripped his wheelchair's arms, "won't stop you, can't stop you. You are more than your legs or the Intersect. You are Chuck and that should mean something."

He stared at her with such expression of vulnerability that Sarah feared he was going to crack like a sheet of ice.

"Why are you trying so hard to cheer me up?" he asked.

_Because you brought hope to my life.__ If you leave it… I'm lost._

"Did Beckman send you to do this?" His fragility had turned into wariness.

"What?"

"Is this some kind of mission? Did they send you here to see if you can make me flash?"

At first, she was too infuriated to answer. When her anger levels lowered a little, she smacked his head. "Are you stupid?"

"What? Why? It was a legitimate question!"

She slapped him for a second time.

"Ouch! That hurt!"

"Want to receive again?" She raised her hand to make a point. "Listen to me, I'm here because _I_ want to. Nobody sent me." She straightened up with her hands on her hips, in an attempt to calm down. The moment she looked at his puzzled face, all her irritation vanished. "If you want me to be honest, I'm cheering you up because once upon a time you told a little girl that real ballerinas are tall."

"I-I don't get it."

"You don't need to, they're my motives." She allowed herself a haughty smile. The gravity of the situation caught her soon enough. "Besides, your attitude makes me want to pull up my hair. And I'm not the only one, _Ellie_ is worried. And I don't know you, but she doesn't deserve this."

"Do you think I'm feeling depressive for hobby?"

"I think that feeling sorry for yourself isn't like you."

Chuck threw her a strange look. "Wow, you sound like Morgan."

"Wise man. I won't mistreat him anymore." She grinned when he gaped. "So, I will ask again, any projects in the horizon? Real ones? With or without Morgan?"

Under her scrutiny, Chuck's expression went from guardedness to hesitation in less than a minute. He opened and closed his mouth several times until he seemed to trust himself to talk. "I… I don't know… I'm not sure about what I want to do with my life now… All my plans went down the toilet after the injury…"

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yes, you have doubts, that's all right. It's an honest answer. The important thing is that you're thinking about the future."

He rubbed the wheels' spokes with a reflective air. "Not always. Some days I waste all my time in my room doing nothing, just listening to music. I can't even think those days. It's too painful."

"And other days?"

"I had an idea once and…" His stare wavered. "I'm developing it. It's a kind of a project."

"Really? Does anybody know about it?"

"No…"

"Why not? I'm sure Ellie would be happy to know you're trying something."

Chuck cringed as if he tried to put his head into his shoulders. "It's a stupid thing. Besides, I can't tell her what drove me to do it. And it's not finished anyway, it's not even a beta."

"Chuck, what are you up to?" She asked, cautious. She still remembered his "search engine" to find Orion. He had this tendency for bad ideas.

He seemed to fight with himself. In the end, his honest side (or the side that feared Sarah) won and he take out a cell phone from one of his trousers' pockets. "Since… since I can't flash I t-thought that… My father created the original Intersect so… I thought that I could invent a replacement or something." There was a clear brightness of excitement in his eyes that disappeared as soon as he looked at her. Sarah was not amused. "B-but you can use it for other things too. I think it has future in the social networks," he backpedaled quickly.

Sarah shook her head. He was impossible. And she was overreacting. "Sorry, don't mind me. I'm being a paranoid." She made an effort to muster a weak smile. "What is it? What does your creation do?"

"You-you must understand that this is an incomplete prototype. I need to extend the database and the image recognition engine is still in development. This is just to give you an idea." He fell silent.

"Okay. But what does it _do_?"

"Oh, right…" He raised the cell phone and put it in front of his face. "The idea is to use the cell phones' camera to identify people and places. You take a picture or record a video, then the image recognition engine works to compare that image with any data you could have filed away in the database, as long as you're using the software in your phone." Sarah looked through the screen. There were little labels over some buildings in the skyline. "I'm trying to do it in real time, so when you capture the image of somebody, you don't just see different data about him, but you can also contact with other people using this same software, and this way they can complete your information." His voice was rising as he was speaking. "Imagine this software for policemen, for example. They arrest a suspect and if they use it, they can know if he has criminal records and they can make contact with the victim or any witness at the same time to discover if the guy they captured is the right man. Or you could connect the software directly to the surveillance cameras, that's another idea."

Sarah was impressed, to say the least. "Does this work?"

"As I told you, it's in the development stage. But I've made some progress."

Chuck stopped talking again as something grabbed his attention. Sarah followed his gaze. A man was getting out from the back door of a local. He was dressed in Mariachi clothes and in that precise moment, he was taking off a false mustache as he walked away.

Sarah heard a muffled thud. Chuck had let his cell phone fall. When Sarah looked back at him she saw something surprising, yet familiar: Chuck's eyes went white, almost as if he was about to sneeze, but not quite.

_A flash._

He gripped her hand. "Sarah, that's man is Javier Cruz, an assassin and a bad person in general."

"Are you—?"

"Yes!"

"OK, stay put."

"What? Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'll catch him."

She ran away. The last thing she heard was Chuck shouting "It's not fair!" Sarah ignored him, she ignored everything, as her brain worked at light speed. Twelve different options appeared in her mind. She chose number three: jump into a car's hood, take impulse and jump over him.

They fell together to the ground. The hit emptied her lungs. Unfortunately Javier reacted before she could immobilize him with an armlock and elbowed her face. Then he got up and reached for his back, to grab his gun, surely. Sarah swept to his knee. He stumbled, but kept his balance. Sarah leapt and rose, she took impulse and threw a punch.

He dodged it.

In the second that her fist missed his face and his knee made contact with her stomach, she remembered all the times that, during her leave of absence, she had decided to spend reading, listening to music or watching TV instead of training like a proper spy.

The knock into her abdomen made her crash into a car. She saw Javier taking out his gun. She could only swear.

Suddenly a blur rammed against Javier and made him lose his gun.

The blur turned out to be Chuck, all burning eyes and clenched teeth. Sarah felt a first impulse of yelling at him, but decided to leave that idea and leapt to grab the dropped gun.

As she took the weapon she could see how Chuck's face displayed the signals of a new flash. Before Javier could react, Chuck made a wheelie and knocked him down, which led Javier to hit his head against the wall and fell down like a broken doll, unconscious.

For several seconds there was only pure stillness.

Then Chuck shouted, "That's been… _awesome_!" He seemed more amazed than Sarah herself.

She blew her top. "I told you to stay behind!"

"Is this a new version of 'stay in the car'? Only that now is stay on the _chair_?"

Quick movements beyond Chuck caught her eye and cut her potential ramble. She jumped so she could be between him and anybody who was running toward them.

Who happened to be Casey, followed by a group of armed men. He instantly stopped and lowered his gun.

"Walker, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Me? What are—?" Her mind put two and two together. No surprise that the place was somewhat familiar. "Don't tell me, that's the club of the mission, the one where Forrest had to meet the courier." She pointed at the unconscious man behind her with her thumb. "That guy isn't Gilles."

Casey growled. "Gilles is dead."

_Oh._ "And Forrest?"

"Alive, thanks for your interest," she answered showing up from behind some agent. She was grabbing a handkerchief against her right shoulder. It was stained with blood.

"You're welcome," Sarah answered.

Forrest squinted. She stared at Chuck afterward. "Bartowski, your presence here is most unexpected. And why are you on a wheelchair, is some kind of a cover?"

Casey and Sarah opened their mouth at the same time.

"No cover, just me," Chuck answered before them. "Charles Carmichael to the rescue."

And then, suddenly, he beamed. Sarah felt as if somebody was squeezing her heart. It was the most marvelous sensation in the universe. Chuck was smiling from ear to ear.

Happy.

"What happens with him?" Casey whispered to her ear.

"He flashed."

She heard Casey let out a satisfied grunt as she kept watching Chuck laugh.

* * *

"Thanks once more for your good work, agent Forrest," Beckman said. Her image on the screen nodded in acknowledgement.

"Just doing my job."

_What a cheek, we did all the __hard part_, Sarah thought.

"I am, however, displeased with Gilles' death. I feel responsible," Forrest said. She repositioned the strap of her sling, rather uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, even if the courier's death is unfortunate, we've captured Javier Cruz, a very dangerous assassin and a vital operative for the Ring's Mexico syndicate. And not just him, also his custom Smart Phone. This is the first one we have ever captured." She nodded again. "Very good job."

Forrest tried not to show her pride too much. She didn't get it, though.

"You may leave," Beckman told her.

Forrest glanced at Sarah before going away. Sarah noticed Casey following Forrest's every movement with his eyes. Somebody still got the hots for her.

"Where is Chuck?" Beckman asked, cutting her musings and his close watch.

"Upstairs," Sarah answered.

"Bring him here, I want to talk to him."

"But—"

"Do it."

Chuck was behind the counter, gobbling up a fro-yo with chocolate chips. "I was hungry," he excused himself, with his mouth full.

"Come," Casey said. "The General want to have a chit-chat with you."

"Mmmm… Okay… can't I talk from here?" He pointed at the screen of the cash register with his little spoon.

"That's just for surveillance, Chuck," Sarah answered delicately.

"With all the money you spent in this place, you could have put a damn communication console up here too."

"Yes, make a complaint to the CIA," Casey said, sarcastic. "But now, go down."

Chuck propelled his chair backward several inches. His face was dismal. "Those steps are hell. And if that wasn't bad enough, I have to turn the chair in the landing with minimum room to maneuver." He wheeled forward. "That if I fit in that little false cold store full of boxes."

"I can take out those boxes," Sarah offered. "And about the stairs, I can push Chuck from behind while you," she pointed at Casey, "can go ahead and grab the chair's bottom front to keep the balance."

"Nah, too complicated," Casey said and stooped to pass an arm behind Chuck's back and take one of the nerd's forearms.

"What are you—?" Chuck began. Casey pushed him against his shoulder. "Wait, wait!"

Casey ignored Chuck, lifted him and carried him over his ample shoulders like a potato sack. "Take the chair, Walker."

_This is a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. In any moment I'll wake up __and find myself in my hotel room, in the morning of my second first date with Chuck._

When Sarah placed the wheelchair in the castle, Casey dropped the yelling and tussling Chuck into it with the same grace of a hippopotamus dancing ballet.

"Did you win your brain in a fair?" Chuck asked him, indignant.

"He's the missing link between the apes and the humans," Sarah provided.

"Quiet, bunch of nancies."

Beckman cleared her throat loudly.

"Agents. Mr. Bartowski," she said. Her stare would have served as replacement for liquid nitrogen. "I wanted all of you here to discuss the new status of the Los Angeles field operative."

"Formerly known as Team Bartowski," Chuck said.

Beckman ignored him. "This operative was formed not just to protect the Intersect, but also to act as a shock force in response to the Intersect's flashes. The success of this operation depended on the asset's effectiveness."

"You made it clear when you dumped me," Chuck mumbled.

Beckman ignored him for a second time. "The Intersect is operative again. In fact, this team has achieved what nobody else could in our fight against The Ring."

"Really?" Chuck said.

He looked at the Smart Phone on the table and leaned forward to grab it. Casey slapped his hand before he could touch it. "Ouch! What happens with you two today?" He glanced at Sarah.

"Hands in your pockets, moron."

"What! Why? I want to know what I helped to capture."

"None of your business."

"I'm afraid it is, Colonel." She sighed and took out her glasses. "I can't believe that I'm about to say this…"

"Say what?" Chuck asked with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

"I'm putting operation Bartowski back into the field, as it once was."

"I thought that Sarah and I would be working like an itinerant team," Casey said.

"That was before. Now the asset is again our most precious asset. We must take the chance."

Beckman threw Sarah a quick look. A dark suspicion began to crawl inside Sarah's chest. It was not possible…

"You will work together with Chuck to help him in his adaptation to the new situation."

"With all due respects…" Casey talked. "The logistics are going to be a challenge."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Beckman said.

"I could be like _Oracle_," Chuck jumped in, excited. He seemed to realize something and made a face. "But-but with male parts."

Sarah couldn't help asking: "The Oracle of Delphos?"

"What? No! Oracle… Barbara Gordon, the former Batgirl…" He watched his teammates as if he expected the names to ring a bell on them. No reaction. "Forget it."

"He could work from home," Sarah suggested.

"Too risky," Casey answered. "Perhaps we can create a new cover job. One that can allow him to flash, be in contact with us and get in the way as less as possible."

Chuck smiled. "So is this for real? We're working together again?"

"Yes, welcome back to the team, Chuck," the General said.

"This is great!" He raised his hands, looking for a high five. He waited in vain. "Isn't this great, guys?"

"A dream come true," Casey mumbled.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a spoilsport. This is fantastic news. At least to me." He sighed. "I had lost all hope."

"Yes, Chuck, us too," Beckman agreed.

Beckman glanced at Sarah once more. Realization hit her suddenly. She understood why Beckman seemed so remorseful when they met in the DNI headquarters. It wasn't just for Chuck. It was for her. Because she was using her to use him.

Rage began boiling inside her. Beckman should have noticed her annoyance, because the next thing she said was "That's all. Chuck, you may return home now. Agent Walker, stay, I must talk to you."

_Yes, you must.__ You old hag._

"Sarah?" Chuck called, like somebody asking for directions.

"Go with Casey, I'll catch you upstairs."

Casey put himself in front of Chuck with his arms crossed. "We can make it the hard way—"

"Or Sarah's way, I know." Chuck waved his hand, playing down the importance of his threat. "How do we do it? Are you going to be all 'Me Tarzan, you Jane'?"

Casey rolled his eyes instead of answering. This time he wheeled Chuck's chair up the stairs with his bare hands. When they reached the cold store, Chuck's assumption turned out to be right: it didn't have enough space for his chair. Sarah heard Casey's curses and the hissing sound of boxes being dragged. At one point, the crash of metal on metal.

Meanwhile, Sarah waited patiently for them to left the Castle and close the door.

And her anger built up and built up and built up.

So when she was alone at last, she lashed out. "You bi—"

"I caution you to be respectful to your superiors."

"You've used me."

"You say it as if it was something new in your life. You're a CIA agent, you do what we order you to do."

That stung. "But you didn't order me to do _anything_. You just led me on, created a situation and then waited for everything to work out as you expected."

She cracked a smug smile. "Which is precisely what happened."

"We're talking about people here."

"We're talking about national security." Beckman changed her severe look for a more detached expression. "As hard as it is for you to understand, I have no interest in manipulating or using the feelings of people. Our agents shouldn't have feelings when they work, after all. My only purpose is taking down The Ring."

"Using all means necessary."

"I don't know why you are so shocked, agent Walker. This is the same work you had when you were assigned for operation Bartowski for the first time."

That hurt. The truth usually does. "But that's different. Now he is—"

"The Intersect. That didn't change." Beckman sighed, and for the first time in ages, Sarah could see the real woman behind the façade. "I'm sorry to use a boy with a disability as a tool, but I have no option. I must do what is best for our country. As you swore you would when you became a spy."

Sarah clenched her teeth. "He has done a lot for this country."

"Yes, that's why I'm sending our best agent to protect him."

"And make him flash."

"Don't act cocky, agent. Do you have any idea of how many millions we have spent in Chuck, in the Intersect project? While we don't have a new one, Chuck will have to be a spy."

That was interesting. "A new Intersect?"

"Our scientists are developing it. Chuck's… injury was a big mishap."

"So this is temporary. Just until there is another agent that can become the new Intersect." Sarah felt hopeful.

"That is correct."

Sarah lost optimism fast. "And when that happens, what will be of Chuck?"

"His father made the computer that Chuck downloaded, his father can make the device to des-Intersect him. Again."

Sarah weighted the pros and cons. Pros: she would see Chuck everyday. Cons: she would see Chuck everyday.

"Why would I do this?"

"Because I order you to. And because you know he's good at being a spy, even against all the odds, and because you know that it will help him to have a purpose in his life. You can't deny it."

"Even if that was true, this is too dangerous." Suddenly Sarah took an interest on her own nails. "I'm not prepared to do this. Another agent will be more adequate."

"You are the only agent that could make him flash. Believe me, we tried."

Sarah hesitated. "This could be complicated…"

"Let me be clear, agent Walker. You've enjoyed privileges that no other spy has. I gave you time so you could recover from whatever rift you suffered with Chuck. Now I want you to prove that the confidence I deposited in you wasn't in vain. I want you to be a _professional_. Otherwise, you know where you could send your resignation."

If Beckman thought that her words intimidated her, she was wrong.

"A fair point," Sarah accepted. "That's why I must make this clear, if I'm here to help and protect Chuck, I stay. If I'm here to manipulate him, I quit."

"And who will determine that?"

"Me."

Beckman stayed still, as if she didn't know what to do with her answer. "As you wish. I just hope that you won't make a mistake in your judgments."

The General cut off the communication abruptly.

Sarah swore in the quiet room.

The supreme irony: Chuck was right. She was there so he could flash.

* * *

"Did you call Ellie?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, I call her by phone earlier and told her we'd delay a little." Chuck smirked at her. "Don't worry, she won't kill you."

Sarah didn't find it funny. Ellie Bartowski was one of the three things that frightened her. She still had nightmares with Ellie's preparations for her wedding.

As soon as they reached the courtyard of Chuck's building, a door opened and Ellie got out. Her face showed a deep anxiety. "Hi, guys! How… how was your stroll?"

"Horrible," Chuck answered. At Ellie's expression of dismay he kept talking in a light tone. "We watched the sunset, we talked, she smacked me, several times, and… what else? Ah, yes, we captured a Mexican assassin."

Ellie's eyes went from Chuck to Sarah and then back again, not knowing what to think. Sarah crossed her arms to control her urge to strangle him.

"Chill out, sis. We had a great time."

Chuck burst out laughing. Ellie's jaw almost knocked out of position.

"What?" Chuck asked, a little perplexed.

Ellie put a hand on her mouth and she extended the other to her brother. "You laughed."

"Yeah."

"It's been such a long time."

Color drained from his face. "I'm sorry."

"No, no… It's great hearing you laugh."

Chuck took his sister's hand and caressed it against his chest. "It's good laughing. I'm sorry I've been an ass, Ellie. I don't know how you bear with me."

She smiled, even if tears were filling her eyes. "Well, I kind of became fond of you. You were a cute kid once."

Chuck sniggered. "I'm still cute."

"You know… with that beard…"

He caressed it. "What do you mean? It gives me an intellectual look."

Ellie shook her head no. "Then the intellectual look doesn't suit you." She raised her gaze to Sarah. "What do you think?"

"That razors exist for something."

Chuck turned his head to her. "Do you think I should shave it?"

"Should he?" Sarah asked Ellie.

"He should."

Chuck kept fondling his beard. "Is Morgan inside?"

"Yes."

"I'll ask him."

"No, don't ask him. You know what he's going to answer."

"So you're opinion is the only one that matters…"

"Yes, yes!"

He laughed and overtook her to enter into the house. "Is it lasagna what I smell? Great, I'm hungry."

He disappeared into the living room. Ellie and Sarah remained in the courtyard while they enjoyed Awesome's deep laugh and Morgan's tenor voice, chatting incessantly about something unintelligible.

Ellie turned round and stared silently at Sarah. Her face seemed a fabric about to fray, that same faint corporealness covering her factions.

"Ellie…" Sarah began.

"Thank you."

"No, I had nothing to do—"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Ellie flung herself to Sarah's arms and bawled on her shoulder until Sarah could feel the tears dampening her jacket.

Sarah focused on a crack on the wall and tried to detach her mind from her body.

_Welcome home, Sam._


End file.
